


Lionheart

by Valandhir



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valandhir/pseuds/Valandhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know you will not change your mind, you never do. I’d be a fool to even try. We fight tomorrow, and we will die, I have come to terms with that.” He walked past Thorin, leaning against the high railing of the balcony. “What I am trying to understand is why.”</p><p>In the night before the Battle of the Five Armies Fíli and Thorin discover truths about themselves and what they are to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Night only

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my... I should say that I am really nervous to post this, with me not being a writer with the shippy skill. It is prove I should not write when feeling ill or sitting on a nightly train home. It came to me somewhere behind Frankfurt with too many hours on the train before me and I wrote it down all in one go. I can't promise regular updates - I am still working on my main epic! And this story also comes with an apology - until Easter is done, I will be fairly busy and have little time to write. 
> 
> BIG Warning here - This story has Thorin/Fíli as the main pairing and I won't apologize for that. If I botched the romantic part you have the right to tell me off to your heart's content ;)
> 
> AH AND: THIS IS NOT PART OF THE RAVEN'S BLADE UNIVERSE.

“I can’t believe he is stubborn, so pigheaded…!” Kíli made no attempt to lower his voice, as he raged standing beside his brother in the armory of Erebor. “And Bilbo… how could he do that?!”

 

Fíli, who had been rifling through a chest of armor pieces, looked at his brother, so like their Uncle in temper and looks, and as of now no less enraged than their capricious king. “Bilbo made his choice,” he said evenly. “he knew that taking the Arkenstone went against all his promises to us. And while I do not bemoan the loss of the stone…”

 

“Don’t say you agree with Thorin on banishing him?” Kíli pleaded. “You can’t mean that, Fíli. Had he… had Thorin listened we may not be committed to a battle to the death. Fíli… we are going to die come morning,” Kíli’s voice became soft, a whisper. “and for what? A pile of gold?”

 

Fíli gently hugged his little brother, feeling him shake, trying so hard to hide his fears. After all they had been through on their long journey across Middle Earth, it was bitter that this would be how it ended, how they would die. He wished he could coddle his little brother, tell him it would be alright, that they would find a way out of this, like they had so often in the past. Only this time it was a lie, there was no way out, Thorin would rather fight than share the wealth of the mountain. “We are dwarves, Kíli,” Fíli whispered, still holding his brother. “and we are fighters, we fight as long as we live. Always have, always will. It’s not like we asked before if it was worth it.”

 

“Fíli, I’ve found you something,” Dwalin emerged from the back of the once mighty armory, carrying an engraved cuirass and armor pieces. They were great works, the best Fíli had ever seen, but he shook his head. “I am sorry, Dwalin, I cannot wear these. Can you find me something simpler? A regular soldier’s armor, if you would.”

 

The bald dwarf frowned as he set aside the harness. “Ye’re a Prince of the Mountain, Fíli…”

 

“No,” Fíli said firmly. “tomorrow I will be a soldier, ordered to battle by his King. Nothing more and nothing less.” He felt Kíli stiffen in their hug, his little brother was shocked, it showed in the way his wide dark eyes stared up at Fíli. The older brother’s heart clenched, thinking of these dark eyes broken, dead… no, he could not think of it. “Dwalin, could you find some good armor for Kíli first? Chainmail and leather brigandine, I should think…” he said, gently pushing Kíli towards the older warrior. “I have to talk to someone.”

 

“You sure you want to try that?” Dwalin guessed at once to whom Fíli would be talking. “If he’s set his mind on something he doesn’t budge…”

 

“We die tomorrow, Dwalin,” Fíli replied. “what will it hurt to try? Look out for Kíli, please.” He knew that he did not really need to ask that of their old friend, Dwalin would always protect Kíli, to his dying breath and sadly he soon might have the chance.

 

Fíli strode out of the armory and up to the higher levels of the Mountain; he knew where he would find Thorin. And he was right, the dwarven leader stood in one of the old palace rooms, with a balcony overlooking what once had been the heart of Erebor. He looked around at Fíli and frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at the armory?”

 

Fíli shrugged and walked up to him on the balcony. “Dwalin will have found me something before long, if I wear it now or by morning… what’s the difference?”

 

“So you have come to talk me out of this?” Thorin asked, his voice dangerously low. “To talk me into making peace instead of fighting for our honor? I had not taken you for the treacherous sort, Fíli.”

 

Fíli winced when Thorin’s disdainful glance touched him, he tried to hide it but it stung. Thorin… seeing him look at Fíli like he was something disgusting, it was worse than his anger. Fíli could deal with his anger, with his rage, he loved Thorin’s fierce temper, but he could not take his disdain. “No,” he answered calmly, forcing himself to not show his feelings. “I know you will not change your mind, you never do. I’d be a fool to even try. We fight tomorrow, and we will die, I have come to terms with that.” He walked past Thorin, leaning against the high railing of the balcony. “What I am trying to understand is why.”

 

Not being contradicted deflated Thorin’s anger, he had expected a fight out of Fíli, not the calm resignation he heard in his voice. It was worse than angry words or a fiery challenge, he was used to both from his Lion’s cub, but this icy acceptance was something he did not know how to handle. “Why what?” he asked back. “The armies out there should be fairly obvious.”

 

“You misunderstand me,” Fíli crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I know the situation, I know the stakes… but I do not know why you care so little, for otherwise I cannot explain why you are so stubbornly headed for one last glorious battle. Do you really care so little whether you live or die, Thorin? Do you really have nothing to live for? Nothing you wish for more than for the gold of Erebor? I’d like to know what I will be dying for.”

 

Thorin sighed heavily, it was a question he knew, Fíli had always challenged him like that. He would do what Thorin said, follow any order, but he would want to know: why. Always. And he had the courage to insist on the answer, he truly was a Lion’s Cub in that respect, he did not know when to retreat to safer grounds. “This is our legacy, the wealth of our people, Fíli, we cannot give it up to anyone.” He replied, walking closer to the young warrior. “I know you have never seen the Mountain before, you grew up in the miserable hovels in Ered Luin, you still call them home… but this… all this belongs to our people. The Men, the Elves… they do not deserve our gold.”

 

Fíli tilted his head slightly, to look at Thorin, he knew the older dwarf’s face well, the harsh lines a life of hardships had etched into his proud mien, the grey streaks of hair mingled in the dark locks and the eyes… the oh, so intense blue eyes. In his heart Fíli had treasured any moment he had seen those eyes laugh or smile, or look at him with warmth. These memories were his own treasures, to him worth more than all the cold wealth down in the halls. “Is there really nothing you love more than the gold, Thorin?” he asked softly. “Nothing you’d want more?”

 

“What I wish for, I cannot have.” Thorin turned away from Fíli quickly, if he looked at him any longer his resolve might begin to crumble. “Not all wishes can be fulfilled.” And some were within in his reach and still could not be granted.

 

Reaching for Thorin’s shoulder, Fíli nudged him to turn around, to face him. “Why? What is it that you wish for… and deny yourself?” He asked gently. Whatever it was, it had to be something close but unattainable, for he knew Thorin would never be so strongly affected by a fancy for far away things. “Maybe… maybe it can be reached if you would only try?”

 

Thorin raised his hand gingerly touching the long blond locks that framed Fíli’s face, feeling the soft strands glide through his fingers, shining like spun gold in the dim light of the Mountain. “You do not know what you are saying, my Lion’s Cub,” he said in a whisper. “What I want cannot be asked for… nor can it be granted. It is for me to bear in silence that I even wish for it.”

 

There was such a pain in Thorin’s voice, such sadness, it tore Fíli’s heart. When he had been younger, he had used to go to Thorin and hug him, hold him, telling him it would be alright, there was nothing they could not face together. And sometimes he had managed to drive the pain away from his eyes, from his voice. Gently he cupped the hand with his own, prying it away from his hair to hold it between his hands. “What wish could be so bad that it could not be voiced?” he asked, wondering. Could it be a matter of the heart? But who… who would be so unattainable that Thorin resigned himself to not even try? The only one spoken for was Glóin… and Fíli quickly dismissed that thought. It was unlikely, as much as most of the others were. Dwalin might have been open to advances, he had a thing for darkhaired fighters, if his drunken ramblings were any indication, Balin was too old, Bofur… no, he was not the type Thorin would fall for. “It’s Kíli… is it?” Fíli said, finally getting somewhere. Of course it had to be, his little brother was cute, brave and someone worth to be loved.

 

Shaking his head, Thorin did not free his hand from Fíli’s grip. It was so like Fíli to assume anything important would be connected to his little brother. Maybe it was like that because Fíli would always put Kíli first, always see that he got the praise, the attention… “Do you truly think so little of yourself?” Thorin whispered, unable to stop himself. With his other hand he reached again for Fíli’s hair, he always had like that blond mane, often braided those golden tresses, only this time his touch was not as innocent. “It is you, my Lion’s Cub, it always was you.”

 

Fíli’s heart jumped when he saw Thorin’s eyes, these beautiful intense eyes, look at him like he was part of the treasure, like he was made of gold, with so much want… so much adoration. Bringing Thorin’s hand to his lips, he feathered a kiss on the knuckles, the skin of the strong, calloused hand rough under his lips. “I’d have never dared to approach you…” he whispered, before turning the hand gently to feather another kiss inside the palm.

 

Thorin’s breath became ragged, when he felt the warm lips gently tracing along his hand. How often… how often had he wanted to hold his Lion’s Cub, not like an Uncle or a friend, but like a lover? How often had he wished to claim him, always stifling the dreams and chastising himself for wanting the best the younger generation of his people had to offer? “Fíli…” his voice had become rough, as he freed his hand and drew the young warrior into his arms, feeling the strong muscular form so close to him as he leaned closer to kiss his brow. “Is this what you truly want?” he whispered against the warm skin. “I have nothing to offer, Fíli, no hope, no escape… only the death that awaits us come morning.”

 

“I do not care,” Fíli wrapped his arms around Thorin, reveling in the embrace, in the strong arms holding him. “King or Blacksmith, Lord or Wanderer, in this hall or on the road, in life or death… it is only you that I want.”

 

“Oh, my Lion’s cub, you deserved so much more,” even with this admission Thorin’s heart soared, Fíli wanted him, and him alone, he would be his. Unable to hold back much longer he captured Fíli’s lips in a kiss.

 

Fíli responded hungrily to that kiss, burying his hand in Thorin’s long hair. The touch of their lips was like the searing fire of a forge, cold and burning all in one, but it was like nothing he’d ever expected. He had expected dominance, a claim that could not be denied, a thrust into his mouth, a struggle he only could lose. He had been willing to surrender. But this kiss was firm, gentle and completely mutual.

He vividly remembered the moment he’d noticed Thorin like this for the first time. It had been that horrific day in the woods near the ruins of Cameth Brin, they had shared camp with a trader and had been surprised by a hillmen raid while they had been washing down at the stream.  He could still see it, when he closed his eyes: Thorin standing alone against a dozen enemies, in his back, the boy, the youngest of the murdered trader. Thorin had been alone against a dozen fighters, only armed with his blade, his armor still lying discarded at the water’s side. But there he had stood, ready, completely composed and utterly unafraid, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, while he moved with the graceful, effortless speed of mountain cat. His taut muscles rippling under his skin, as he brought his blade down in crashing attack. The sight had taken Fíli’s the breath away, it still did. Ever since that night, he had never been able to look at Thorin without a measure of longing coiling inside him.

 

Slipping his hands over Thorin’s shoulders he pushed away the frayed leather coat he wore. They both were still dressed in the rags they had worn when escaping the dungeons. He felt the fur slip all too easily down Thorin’s shoulders and land on the floor.

Thorin growled as he broke their kiss, Fíli’s boldness was intoxicating, his Lion’s Cub would always charge ahead, never checking for danger, with the confidence that he would come on top. Not quite, this time. He shrugged, letting the equally torn tunic fall from his shoulders as well, he cared little, instead he turned his attention to his bold, golden lion.

 

Fíli felt those strong hands shoving off what remained from his ragged clothing, inciting his skin as they went. Daringly Fíli's hands began to explore Thorin's taunt body. His skin was like he had been standing close to a fire but felt so smooth to Fíli’s fingers, muscles warm and supple, muscles bulging slowly underneath. He felt the marks many injuries had left on Thorin’s body, scars, some small lines, some more pronounced, they did not detract from Thorin’s beauty, quite the contrary. Each of these marks enhanced the dwarven warrior’s ferocious grace, he was like one of the great statues outside Erebor – impeccably cut from the stone and then left to the elements to be shaped  Suddenly his fingertips encountered the hard round of Thorin's nipple, making the elder dwarf grasp for breath. Fíli gazed shyly at his face, continuing teasing the firm flesh, watching Thorin writher with pleasure from his ministrations.

Thorin trembled under Fíliy's tender hands, gripping the younger warrior tightly he drew him closer, into another consummate kiss. His hands forcefully wandered down Fíli's back, doing away with the last shred of clothing there. The feverent kiss made Fíli arch up, a deep purr caught in his throat. He felt those rough lips wandering along his jaw, down to his neck, while Thorin leaned him over so he ended up lying down on the hard stone floor, the tiles pressing into his naked back.

Fíli felt the cool soothing stone beneath him. Somewhat forcefully guiding Thorin down with him, his lips found Thorin's neck, burying himself in his warmth. The same time, Thorin’s hands have found their way down Fíli’s body, stroking, teasing, and inciting him all the way along. The younger dwarf groaned as he felt those fingertips teasing his erection. Drawing Thorin into his embrace, into another kiss again, he feels his hardness. Rubbing against each other, it sent a painful aching shiver down his spine.

Their eyes locked and in Thorin’s shining blue pupils, Fíli read a question, it was written there clearly, like Thorin had spoken. Words however are not necessary any more. He just could see it in these wonderful eyes. This one short look sent a near painful stab right through Fíli’s soul. Even now, in the middle of their passion, Thorin  would never force him into something, never simply take what he could… instead he was silently asked for Fíli’s permission and Fíli loved him all the more for it. The only answer he was able to give, was a smoldering kiss, pouring all he felt into the caress of their lips. It was enough for both of them to understand.

Thorin moaned into their kiss, words having failed him long now, but he does not need them here. Fíli… his golden Lion’s Cub, coming willingly to his arms, giving him permission to make the one claim that will be for eternity, even if eternity will only be for one night.

They had nothing there to prepare, but neither of them cared. Fíli’s hands found Thorin’s hardness, cupping it with his strong hand, stroking him gently, almost playfully. A stifled moan and the now burning arctic blue eyes tell him, that he was completely right. It does not take more than his touch to make Thorin want… want like he never wanted anything, not even the coveted jewel the Halfling stole. And Thorin’s hands incite the same flame in Fíli the same time as they he slid along his behind. Fíli felt a gentle finger brush his entrance and moaned. Thorin had eased a finger inside a small shudder vibrated through Fíli's body, his breathing becoming heavier as his body was set aflame by Thorin’s hands.. Thorin drove his finger in deeper, before withdrawing it quickly and replacing it with two. Fíli moaned louder, throwing back his head, the intrusion foreign but oh so good… “Thorin..” he pleaded as the fingers were suddenly gone. “Please.”

A passionate kiss was his only answer, as he felt Thorin slowly entering him. He gritted his teeth when he was breached, stretched to the limit of what he could take, his hands finding Thorin’s shoulders holding onto him.

“Fíli,” Thorin growled, feeling the soft, tight warmth engulf him. He had to force himself to go slow, seeing the pain he caused reflected in Fíli’s eyes. He stilled to make this easier on his young lover. “Relax, my Lion’s Cub… it will be enjoyable from here on.”

 

It was a gentle touch, Thorin giving him time to adjust to being filled so utterly, it hurt at first but it felt so good all the same. He wanted more, he wanted to feel Thorin claim him, break him with his passion. Fíli slowly started rocking forward, to make him slide in deeper. There wa spain, a sharp cutting pain, but it is nothing compared to the delirious pleasure rising up inside him. “Yes…” Fíli threw his head back in passion, as he exploded right the moment, he felt Thorin thrusting inside him. He felt Thorin’s hands gripping his, as the tidal waves reached him, making him cry out in passion.

 

***

 

The cold grey hours before dawn found Thorin and Fíli curled up together on the remains of the ragged coats, Fíli still firmly asleep after the night’s enthusiastic lovemaking. Thorin had woken, finding his head rest comfortably in the crook of Fíli’s neck, golden hair intermingled with his own. Gently Thorin traced the side of the sleeping face with his strong hand. Fíli looked so happy, so content in his sleep, he wished they could have years together, he wanted to wake up beside Fíli every day, make a true home with him, be it in the Halls of a King or on the Road they had travelled so long. He sighed, wishing he could spare his Lion’s Cub what the dawn would bring.

 

“Hmm… morning already?” Fíli yawned, blinking up at Thorin. He smiled warmly and feathered a kiss on the King’s lips. “Armory time, then.”

 

Thorin’s heart swelled with pride, his Lion’s Cub would not try to dissuade him, nor plead with him, he would walk to battle beside him proudly and with the courage that could only be borne in the heart of a mountain lion. “Let’s find some water to wash before we go to the armory.” He replied, getting up and pulling Fíli up, to kiss him gently.

 

They found some cold water near one of the old channels and washed, before proceeding to the armory. Dwalin had left the armor Fíli had asked for on a stand by the entrance, depositing the other one beside it. Thorin looked at them and understood what went unsaid. But he took Fíli’s hand guiding him past the racks towards the back hall of the armory, where his own armor was ready for him.

 

Thorin swiftly opened another of the stone chests to find what he had been looking for – another suit of armor, nearly identical to his own. Where his own armor was made from bright silver steel, this was made from black steel, but otherwise it was a copy of Thorin’s armor. Both had been made when he was much younger, and he knew the dark armor would fit his Lion’s Cub perfectly.

 

Fíli looked at the magnificent black armor; it had been made with a skill and materials not easily available anywhere in the world. It was an armor fit for the Prince of the greatest Kingdom. He shook his head, but Thorin gently cupped his face with his hands. “Please, Fíli, for me,” he said. “do not go to this battle as a soldier I ordered, but… go as my consort, my lover, the only one I want by my side.”

 

If words could cut up a heart and slice it to pieces, these did, for Fíli could not say no to Thorin. Not when he asked him like that. “In life or death, my heart, we will be together,” he leaned close to swiftly kiss Thorin.

 

They left the armor together to wake the others, Kíli and Dwalin lying closely snuggled together and Fíli smiled, at least his brother had had the sense to not waste his last night on this good middle earth. Dwalin looked surprised to see the armor Fíli wore, but did not comment in any way. 

 

They manned the battlements at first light, a red sun rose in the east, illuminating the armies approaching the gates of the Mountain. With the cold morning the storm rose, Fíli stood beside him on the gates of Erebor. His lover by his side and the battle ahead, he’d not have it any other way. The clarions of the battle of the Five Armies drew near, and Thorin knew he’d fight like he never had fought before for he would fight to win.


	2. How we survived

  1. **How we survived**




 

Waking up was like diving through a well of pure agony, Fíli’s mind reeling, trying to slip into the blessed darkness again, but a hard hand grabbed his neck, forcing him to lift his head. He blinked, his vision was blurry, vaguely he could see a darkening sky and a face bend over him. “You need to drink this,” the voice was unfamiliar, not a dwarf. He tried to speak but nothing but a whimper escaped his lips.

 

“Listen,” the voice sounded hollow, like coming from the other end of an empty tunnel. “I know you feel bad, but you need to drink this. The lives of those you care for may depend on it.” The stranger, still nothing more than a shape of a blurry pale face and some equally blurry dark hair, shook his head. “I don’t even know if you understand me.”

 

“Do…” Fíli forced the word out. “drink…” He did not struggle any longer but opened his mouth for whatever medicine this was. A bitter hot liquid touched his tongue and he gulped it down, it tasted like willow bark elixir but with something else in it, something tasting vile. 

 

“Good,” the voice became a little clearer. “now… I want you to not fall asleep on me. Focus on your breathing, count your breaths… do not fall asleep again. You need to be awake.” 

 

Fíli was allowed to lie down again, he felt something scratchy, like straw under his head. His sight began to clear slowly, and he saw that he was lying on a blanket, somewhere outside. The shape returned and Fíli’s eyes widened. “You are Bard, from Laketown.” He whispered. 

 

“Your eyes are clearing, good.” Bard gently helped him to drink another cup of water laced with something herbal. “I wish I could let you rest – you certainly deserve it, but you’d never forgive it later…”

 

Fíli groaned, taking stock of his own shape. He felt a bandage at his neck and another on his arm, his forhead was burning. He raised his hand to his face. “Don’t!” Bard said warningly. “I cleaned that wound, and put enough Elfroot paste on it to see it healed cleanly, but I do not have anything clean enough to serve as a bandage. The paste created some scrapping, luckily.” 

 

“What happened?” Fíli asked, the pain receding a bit. “Why are you helping me?”

 

Bard sighed, and now that Fíli looked at him he could see that the Man was injured too. “Your King, Thorin and your brother Kíli… they are both severely injured, I had them moved to one of our healers, she is an elf-friend I will admit, but she is good, the best we have, outside the Elves who are not sharing at the moment. But the other Dwarf Lord – Dáin – he insists on dwarves treating your King. It would be his death, Héla is only just keeping them alive. Your old warrior – Balin – he is stalling Dáin, but he said only you might be able to put an end to this madness. He indicated you might outrank Dáin in whatever way.”

 

“Dáin is being ambitious, no surprise there.” Fíli replied grimly, using his healthy arm to push himself up. He could sit upright. “But why help us? You were less than enticed with us so far… even with the Arkenstone in your hands…”

 

Bard looked at him strangely. “You must remember… that headwound … it can’t be that bad?” he asked.

 

“Remember what?” Fíli asked, testing his legs, drawing them in. He should be able to get up, now that the drought had dulled the pain. 

 

“The Battle,” Bard raised both hands in a helpless gesture. “your King Thorin… his charge at Azog… charging at that beast with only four fighters by his side… the craziest bravest thing I ever saw. He saved us all.”

“Azog… I do remember,” Fíli whispered, the memories of blood, death and pain all the more vivid in his mind. “It was high time that this monster fell.” He pushed himself to his feet, managing to stand, if a bit wobbly. The armor he had worn during the fight lay beside the blanket, Bard must have taken it off, to treat the cut at Fíli’sneck. Slowly he began to pull it in again.

 

Bard had gotten to his feet as well, helping him. “That armor… it may well have saved your life, it prevented any weapon from reaching your heart or lungs, spared your ribs too.” 

 

Fíli nodded mutely, he had already noticed that while his body was bruised and hammered, he had sustained no life threatening injuries to his chest and sides. He remembered how many Orc weapons had failed to pierce the layers of plate and chainmail. “Thorin, he wore a similar one…” then he recalled the last crazy moments of the battle with Azog. “Azog’s mace…”

 

“Aye, he hit his head, badly so. If you had not finished that beast when you did…” Bard shook his head. “one doesn’t like to think about it… had Azog not fallen, we’d all be dead. Only the loss of their leader broke the Orc’s strength.” 

 

The weight of the armor settling on him, Fíli had to lean on Bard’s arm for a moment. “Thank you, Bard. I appreciate what you are doing… we ought to have treated you better. Let… Let us find Dáin.” 

 

Bard did not look at Fíli as they walked through the makeshift camp. He knew that his alliance with the elves was wearing thin quickly, the Elven King had not wished to getting involved into a war of this scale and had only appeared to lend aid under the advice of Gandalf. And with the dragon out of the picture, the wizard’s interest in this affair was waning already. Bard would need whatever tenuous alliance he could strike up with the dwarves, and while Thorin had been ruthless and unfriendly towards them, he had been more honest about it than his newly appeared cousin Dáin. 

 

They came across the main camp and found Balin and Dáin arguing in front of one of the few tents. “Balin!” Dáin snapped. “I order you to have them moved, they should be treated by their own people. It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do!”

 

“But I can, Dáin,” Fíli spoke up, his voice as firm as he could make it. It felt daring to challenge the older dwarf so openly, but he had to. Fíli had been Thorin’s chosen heir, Thorin _had_ named him his consort prior to the battle, no matter what would come of that decision, for the moment Fíli was Thorin’s second and his lineage superseded Dáin’s. 

 

Dáin turned to him and the older Dwarf managed to hide his surprise behind a swift and too wide smile. “Fíli, it is so good to see you alive. Your poor mother would have my lungs and liver though for letting you walk around…”

 

“’Tis not a matter of ‘letting’ me do anything, _cousin_ ,” Fíli purposefully used the familial term, to remind Dáin on where they stood in the royal line. It felt arrogant to do so, it was bordering disrespectful to remind on older dwarf of his lesser blood, but this was for Thorin and Kíli, he could not let his good manners get in the way. “I thank you for dealing with matters so far, but now that I am back at my feet, I will take it from here.” 

 

Dáin’s face fell, and a dangerous gleam crept into his eyes. “If that armor signifies what it should…” he made a disdainful face. “then I pity you, Prince under the Mountain. Some would find death… or the death of one party involved, preferable.” 

 

Fíli cast an icy glance at him. “For that alone I would have your head, Dáin, but I will believe for it to be shock… for now. Return to your troops and see to them.” He watched as Dáin whirled around and stomped off. 

 

“You handled him well, my Prince.” Balin’s eyes twinkled. “He sometimes needs a good slapping down.”

 

“What he needs is for his wife taking the reins of him again, he should not be allowed to leave the Iron Hills without her,” Fíli replied with some humor, before getting serious again. “Balin… how are Thorin and Kíli?”

 

The old dwarf gently touched his arm. “They are alive, laddie, your brother scraped by death much closer than I would like, but Héla, Bard’s healer friend is doing miracles for him, as she did for Thorin. They will both pull through, if they remain in her care.”

 

Fíli nodded, digesting the information, he wanted to hurry to them, to not leave their side again, but he knew he could not. He had duties to attend to. “How is the situation? Ours and those of the others?” he asked Balin. “Bard said the Elves refuse to allow their healers to aid the men of Laketown.”

 

Balin sighed. “They do not have as many healers, and… I do believe that they feel Gandalf lured them into a battle that was not theirs. The Woodelves do not concern themselves much with the outside world. With Dáin antagonized rations and healing for our people… or Bard’s will run low soon enough.”

 

“I feared as much,” Fíli said, leaning against one of the rocks on the ground. “Bard… you know this land, is there any place where supplies could be purchased, that can reach us in a reasonable time?”

 

Bard frowned slightly. “Caer Celduin, downriver,” he said. “they could be here with their boats in the shortest time, and they probably have trade goods… but their wares hardly come cheap and we may have to even deal with the Eastern Traders that moor their boats in Caer Celduin…”

 

“If gold is all they want…” Fíli turned to Balin. “Can you please find Bombur for me, Balin? We will have need of his expertise. Bard… we need your most reliable men, for this. Maybe… it would be best you went yourself with Bombur, you are most likely known in that town.”

 

Surprised Bard looked at the young dwarf Prince. “Your King was adamant on not sharing the treasure…” he said, carefully. “he hardly wished to help us.”

 

Fíli drew a slow breath, steading himself again. “Bard, things have changed – you fought with us against the Orcs, and you are nearly as abandoned by your allies as we are. We both have the most to win if we join forces, your people and mine have more history together than we share with any of the others.” His gaze softened. “Thorin may have raged at you… but he would not have denied you his aid, had it not been for the Elf King by your side.” 

 

Balin’s mouth stood agape for a moment, the shrewd old dwarf saw what Fíli was doing, he was using the small the crack in Bard’s fragile alliance with the elves to turn it into a gulf. Divide and conquer… he had never thought that his own lessons on political maneuvering had fallen onto fruitful ground with Thorin’s eldest nephew. Quickly he went to find Bombur.

 

Bard looked thoughtfully as the older dwarf left, his eyes still at the young Prince. “What you say is true… but before I agree, I need to know something.”

 

“Ask,” Fíli said, wondering what might be on Bard’s mind. “I will not lie to you.”

 

“Dáin hinted at your _fate_ ,” Bard said carefully, “and while I cannot presume to know the significance of the armor you wear, only that it is a darker version of Thorin’s armor… I wonder what he meant. Will you be… punished… or sacrificed for helping us?”

 

He was a good man, worried about the consequences of his actions, Fíli was surprised to see, they would find an honorable ally in Bard, if they could manage to turn him into one. He smiled, trying to stifle a chuckle. “No, Bard, this armor does neither signify my immediate sacrifice to the god of victory – in spite what the old tales say, we never have done that! – and I will not be punished, though I may have a fiercer discussion with Thorin once he wakes.” He was still hesitant to speak of it so openly, but he had to. “The night before the battle… the night before the battle, Thorin named me his consort, and while I do not know… while I do not yet know if he will wish to uphold such commitment now, for the moment I am not just his heir, or Prince, but his chosen consort and thus speaking in his stead until he wakes.” 

 

“But… he is your Uncle…” Bard had heard of royal houses intermarrying, it was a common practice amongst Men, but for an older ruler to take one of his nephews as a consort… that was more than just pushing the limits. 

 

“When the Dwarves were made, there were six pairs and Durin who woke alone… with each of them woke a couple of other dwarves, a dozen with each, the legend says – and yet we grew into a nation numbering in the thousands.” Fíli looked up to Bard. “Bonding and marriage within the closest relations is neither unheard of, nor damaging for our people, we would never have survived otherwise. I know how unusual it is… your people are different from mine… but… if it puts your mind at ease, right now I pray for two things – that Thorin and Kíli survive and that this… this gift was given to me for more than just that one night.”

 

Bard knew he should be shocked or disgusted, only… there was nothing disgusting in the honest love he could see in the dwarven warrior’s eyes. And if their people truly descended from so few – and legend said they did – then their ways were simply different. Even if Dáin had indicated that to be with Thorin in that way was punishment… and after what Bard had seen of the cantankerous dwarf in Laketown he would agree. However this was not his business. “Prince Fíli, if you are truly willing to ally with me and aid my people… I will be honored to accept.” The Light protect him, he would have to deal with Thorin sooner or later, and that would be punishment indeed, but he trusted Fíli. 

 

They clasped hands, sealing their alliance. “I am glad, Bard. Your people deserve better than to suffer the consequences of Elves and Wizard’s mislaid plans.” 

 

***

 

Fíli entered the tent and at once caught a disapproving glance by the healer, she was a red-headed woman and the way she held her chin indicated she had a temper to match her fiery hair. “They need to rest,” she said, not raising her voice too much. “and so do you. Running around with that cut to your face or that headwound…”

 

“I apologize, Mistress Héla,” Fíli replied politely. “but… I wanted to see them, at least for a moment. I will not disturb them.” 

 

The healer sighed. “I will tell you what I told your other dwarf comrade. IF you are willing to be reasonable and sit down and rest, I will allow you in here. And I will neither wonder nor ponder what kind of relationship you dwarves have amongst yourselves.” 

 

Fíli turned to the side, to see Kíli lying on a bed of some grass and clean blankets, his body was covered in bandages, many of them slowly soaking up with blood again. His pale head resting Dwalin's lap, the broad-shouldered warrior gently holding him, stroking the damp dark hair with his mighty hands. He looked up at Fíli. “You better sit down, or the healer will have your skin.”

 

Kneeling down beside them, Fíli saw Kíli's face was drawn with pain, pale and his breathing was slow and laboured. Everything in his unconscious form said _it hurts_ in a thousand ways. His little brother... nearly killed in the horrible fight that lay behind them. “How... will he...?” he did not managed to ask properly, while he gingerly reached for his brother's hand.

 

“He'll pull through. I thought he'd die... when I brought him here, he was nearly gone... slipping away from me...” Dwalin's voice was rough at the admission. “but Héla saved him. She said he'll need a long time to heal. His lung – one of the spears grazed his lung...” 

 

“He will stay in Hela's care as long as he needs to, I'll see to that,” Fíli promised Dwalin. “and he has you to look out for him.” 

 

Surprised the warrior looked at him. “You... you are not angry?” he asked with a surprising shyness. “I... I'd not think you approve of me for your treasured brother.”

 

Fíli smiled a little, but his face hurt at the movement. “Dwalin – I can see how much you care for him, I saw it in your eyes when you held him this very morning, I saw it when you defended him after he was cut down, and I see it now. Kíli deserves to be loved and adored... and I know you will always protect him.” And he knew that Kíli had pined for Dwalin for at least a decade, he had all but thrown himself at Dwalin in Bag-End. They had talked about this a lot, about the ones they did not seem to stand a chance with. Only that Kíli had been more radical, willing to accept whatever he could have, even if it was only tryst or Dwalin seeking pleasure. Now that Fíli saw how much Dwalin cared, he was relieved that Kíli would not lose his warrior so soon. 

 

Giving Dwalin a gentle clap on the shoulder, he rose and moved to the other side of the tent, where Thorin slept. He too was covered in bandages, but his armor had kept the worst brunt of some weapons at bay. Still, Azog's mace had bruised him and cracked his ribs. Sitting down beside him, Fíli's heart clenched. He had been there with Thorin, right to the end, the last of the group standing and the fight had been horrible – blood, screams and Orc becoming one brutal nightmare that had neither escape nor end. The memories of the horror that lay behind them, made Fíli shake, he had a hard time to not break down in tears. 

 

No, he would not, balling his hands into firsts he willed the tears away. Tears would mean regrets, and he had no regrets. He would not have wished to be anywhere else in that battle, nor now. Gently taking Thorin's healthy hand in his, he settled beside him for the long vigil.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of non-profit fan fiction using characters from the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings world, which is trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. All characters created and owned by Tolkien INC, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Middle Earth. The story I tell here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.R.R. Tolkien's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to J.R.R. Tolkien for his wonderful stories about Middle Earth, for without his books, my story would not exist.


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